Death in the Setting Sun Read Online Free

pockets, gazing ahead of him, determined to get to Shug Lane as quickly as possible. As he walked he found his thoughts turning to last night’s guest.
    The Apothecary reckoned her to be about thirty years of age and, despite her slightly piggy face, attractive enough to have caught the attention of several males. So the story of her waiting for the right man was probably true. John hoped for her sake that the man did not take too long to enter her life, particularly as Priscilla had mentioned having a family.
    Deep in thought he turned into Shug Lane and made purposefully for his shop, which was situated about halfway up. Somewhat to his surprise he saw that Gideon had arrived and was busy sweeping out, prior to opening.
    “Good morning,” he called cheerily, and tapped on the door.
    Gideon looked up. “Good morning, Sir.”
    While the boy unlocked, John studied him.
    He was sixteen years old; a stocky, red-headed creature with eyes the colour of gooseberries and a great grin on him. In fact it was difficult, despite the overwhelming reasons to be annoyed, to get very angry. He had a winning way of looking alarmed and going pale, then smiling nervously, which completely disarmed John, however furious he was. Once, when he had been on the point of beating him, Gideon had given him that frightened smile and the Apothecary had ended up dropping the cane to the floor.
    “Spoil the child, spare the rod,” Samuel had said, shortly after Gideon had signed his indentures.
    “And how often do you beat your apprentice?”
    “Once a week, regular as clockwork.”
    “I don’t believe a word of it,” John had answered, and Samuel had been forced to admit that once a year was nearer the truth.
    Now Gideon gave his master a bright grin and said, “I was just about to take the covers off, Sir.”
    “Then away you go. But Gideon …”
    “Yes, Sir?”
    “Be careful not to break anything. Lift them gently, there’s a good chap.”
    “Very good, Sir.”
    The apprentice then proceeded to lift the covers off as carefully as if they covered the crown jewels, each one being treated with exaggerated care.
    “Not that carefully,” said John, slightly irritated.
    “No, Sir,” Gideon answered, yanked at the next one and, sure enough, an alembic smashed to the floor in smithereens.
    Shaking his head, John vanished into the compounding room to make himself a cup of tea.
    The morning passed much like any other, ladies coming in for a variety of cures, everything from megrim to flux; elderly gentlemen concerned with gravel or gout; bucks and blades either buying condoms or urgently seeking a cure for the clap. However, remembering Gideon’s recent error, John insisted on serving everyone personally and had just bidden farewell to a regular customer, a winsome woman of fifty years ripe, seeking something to restore her faded youth, when the door burst open, setting the bell jangling. An elegant figure stood there, clad in a green and black striped coat, a silver waistcoat, green breeches and stockings of the same emerald hue.
    The figure bowed and said in an Irish accent so broad that it sounded phoney, “Good morning to yeez. Would you be after having anything for a pain in my hypochondrium? I sustained a recent injury and it’s hurting me to hell.”
    Gideon gave an audible gulp and it was left to the Apothecary to say, “Take a seat, Sir. Can you tell me how you came by this injury?”
    The Irishman sank into the chair vacated by the lady, who had stopped in the doorway to gaze on the newcomer’s handsome face.
    “Sure and it was on stage. We were fighting, d’ye see.”
    “Ah, I take it this was a mock fight. Done in pursuit of your profession perhaps?”
    The Irishman nodded wearily. “That is so. But, blessed saints, the other bugger hadn’t practised the moves and wasn’t I the one to suffer for it.”
    “Would it be possible to examine you? You can step into the back for the sake of decency.”
    “Decency be blowed.